


Culture Shock

by imaginary_golux



Series: Learning Curve [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Culture Shock, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Shirtless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6710947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn is adjusting to life in the Resistance, and somewhat to his surprise one of the most difficult parts is the amount of <i>skin</i> everyone shows. It's very distracting.</p><p>Especially Poe. Poe is <i>extremely</i> distracting.</p><p>Beta by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culture Shock

Finn is prepared, when he joins the Resistance, for many things to be different from the First Order: command structure, food, topics of conversation. He’s seen enough illicit holos to guess that people outside the ranks of Stormtroopers act very different from his old comrades.

What he’s honestly not prepared for is the amount of _skin_ his new companions show.

It’s just - it’s not as though Finn has never seen anyone naked before. The Stormtroopers had communal showers, after all, and older cadets were given duty rotations of bathing the very young ones. But apart from the thirty minutes allotted to shower, shave, and put on a new undersuit, Stormtroopers spend every minute of their lives covered from neck to ankle; apart from the fifteen minutes per meal allowed in the mess hall and the six hours a night allotted to sleep, Stormtroopers keep their helmets on at all times.

(That’s actually something else that baffles Finn: he’s allotted _eight_ hours a night for sleeping. Who needs eight full hours? And that’s on _top_ of the hour and a half cumulative meal allotment and the _two and a half hours_ for ‘recreation’. What the kriff.)

But here - here everyone has bare faces, _all the time_. And they _talk_ with them. Grimaces and smiles and jerks of the chin and raised eyebrows, smirks and leers and winks and wrinkled noses - it’s like learning a whole new language. Finn gets tripped up, more than once, by people who say one thing and indicate with raised eyebrows that they mean the opposite - it’s just very confusing.

(Poe is not confusing. Poe is all bright smiles and sleepy yawns and laughter. Finn could watch Poe talk for _hours_ \- has, in fact, sitting comfortably at a mess hall table while Poe explains the inner workings of X-Wings or BB-8, Poe’s hands drawing pictures in the air that Finn can almost see as glowing lines. It’s kind of wonderful.)

And everyone has bare _hands_ , too, sometimes even bare _arms_ when it’s a warm day. Finn tries hard not to stare at wrists and fingers and forearms, but it’s hard sometimes. It’s distracting, too; he’ll be working on something with one of the analysts, explaining some part of the First Order, and notice suddenly that their whole _hand_ is visible, no glove or gauntlet covering it, and have to shake himself vigorously to get his mind back on track. And that’s not even getting into the concept of _shorts_ , which Finn had honestly never encountered before. Just - there’s so much skin on display. It’s disconcerting.

But he’s managing pretty well, he thinks; after the first few days he stopped gawking at people’s ankles, and he only twitches a little now when Doctor Kalonia tugs off her gloves after one of his twice-weekly medical exams. He’s learned to cope with Jess Pava’s love for cut-off shorts and what Finn has been informed are called halter tops. He can deal with Snap Wexley’s habit of rolling his sleeves up to his elbows while he works on the engine of his recalcitrant X-Wing.

And he’s _mostly_ managed to stop staring at Poe’s collarbones. Poe has half a dozen v-necked shirts, old worn soft things that drape lovingly over his shoulders, and Finn has caught himself staring more times than he cares to count at the arch of bone and skin that seems to practically _beg_ to be licked, at the vulnerable curve of Poe’s throat. It’s very hard to tear his gaze away, and Finn finds himself obscurely grateful for the self-control his years as a Stormtrooper beat into him, for the fact that he can do his duty even in the face of extreme distraction. Admittedly, none of the simulations in the First Order ever provided this _sort_ of distraction, but the principle remains sound.

So yes, Finn’s been managing to deal with the customs of his new comrades well enough, has even managed to adjust to wearing short-sleeved shirts himself - though shorts are still a bridge too far. But this - Finn’s not entirely sure how he can be expected to deal with this. This is just plain not _fair_.

Poe Dameron is standing in the middle of the hangar, hands buried in the inner workings of his much-beloved X-Wing, absolutely and completely shirtless.

Finn is pretty sure he came into the hangar for a reason - he might have had a message for someone, perhaps? - but he has no idea what that reason might have been. He’s also pretty sure he should move out of the doorway and stop gaping, but he can’t quite find the coordination. There’s - skin. So much skin. The broad sweep of Poe’s shoulderblades, and the easy curve of his spine, and the way his sweat-damp hair clings to the back of his neck - the dip at the base of his spine where his pants ride low on his hips - the lines of old, well-healed scars that only serve to emphasize the smooth beauty of his back -

Finn does not know how long he stands there before Poe turns around to rummage in his toolbox - BB-8 is, for once, not with him, and Finn suspects the little droid is bothering R2-D2 instead - and sees Finn. His whole face lights up, and he crosses the ground between them in a few brief strides, clapping Finn on the shoulder as he reaches him.

Oh kriff, Poe’s _chest_. The curve of his ribs, and the cut of his hipbones. The strength in his shoulders, the utterly _distracting_ swoop of his collarbones.

“Hey, buddy, are you alright?” Poe asks, nothing but honest concern in his tone. His hand is warm on Finn’s shoulder. There’s a smear of engine grease on his cheek, and another on his chest, and the sunlight streaming in through the high windows of the hangar limns his dark hair in gold, and he’s _smiling_ , sweet and happy.

It would take a far better man than Finn to resist such temptation.

Poe makes a very startled noise when Finn tangles a hand in his hair and yanks him into what Finn _knows_ is an utterly unpracticed and probably very clumsy kiss, but then Poe grins against Finn’s lips, cups Finn’s face in both hands, and proceeds to show him how a kiss _ought_ to be performed.

With tongue.

Well. Yes. That...yes. That worked. Finn can definitely work with this.


End file.
